A Poem for Three Voices

Setting:  A Maternity Ward and round about

FIRST VOICE:
I am slow as the world.  I am very patient,
Turning through my time, the suns and stars
Regarding me with attention.
The moon's concern is more personal:
She passes and repasses, luminous as a nurse.
Is she sorry for what will happen?  I do not think so.
She is simply astonished at fertility.

When I walk out, I am a great event.
I do not have to think, or even rehearse.
What happens in me will happen without attention.
The pheasant stands on the hill;
He is arranging his brown feathers.
I cannot help smiling at what it is I know.
Leaves and petals attend me.  I am ready.

SECOND VOICE:
When I first saw it, the small red seep, I did not believe it.
I watched the men walk about me in the office.  They were so flat!
There was something about them like cardboard, and now I had caught it,
That flat, flat, flatness from which ideas, destructions,
Bulldozers, guillotines, white chambers of shrieks proceed,
Endlessly proceed--and the cold angels, the abstractions.
I sat at my desk in my stockings, my high heels,

And the man I work for laughed:  'Have you seen something awful?
You are so white, suddenly.'  And I said nothing.
I saw death in the bare trees, a deprivation.
I could not believe it.  Is it so difficult
For the spirit to conceive a face, a mouth?
The letters proceed from these black keys, and these black keys proceed
From my alphabetical fingers, ordering parts,

Parts, bits, cogs, the shining multiples.
I am dying as I sit.  I lose a dimension.
Trains roar in my ears, departures, departures!
The silver track of time empties into the distance,
The white sky empties of its promise, like a cup.
These are my feet, these mechanical echoes.
Tap, tap, tap, steel pegs.  I am found wanting.

This is a disease I carry home, this is a death.
Again, this is a death.  Is it the air,
The particles of destruction I **** up?  Am I a pulse
That wanes and wanes, facing the cold angel?
Is this my lover then?  This death, this death?
As a child I loved a lichen-bitten name.
Is this the one sin then, this old dead love of death?

THIRD VOICE:
I remember the minute when I knew for sure.
The willows were chilling,
The face in the pool was beautiful, but not mine--
It had a consequential look, like everything else,
And all I could see was dangers:  doves and words,
Stars and showers of gold--conceptions, conceptions!
I remember a white, cold wing

And the great swan, with its terrible look,
Coming at me, like a castle, from the top of the river.
There is a snake in swans.
He glided by; his eye had a black meaning.
I saw the world in it--small, mean and black,
Every little word hooked to every little word, and act to act.
A hot blue day had budded into something.

I wasn't ready.  The white clouds rearing
Aside were dragging me in four directions.
I wasn't ready.
I had no reverence.
I thought I could deny the consequence--
But it was too late for that.  It was too late, and the face
Went on shaping itself with love, as if I was ready.

SECOND VOICE:
It is a world of snow now.  I am not at home.
How white these sheets are.  The faces have no features.
They are bald and impossible, like the faces of my children,
Those little sick ones that elude my arms.
Other children do not touch me:  they are terrible.
They have too many colors, too much life.  They are not quiet,
Quiet, like the little emptinesses I carry.

I have had my chances.  I have tried and tried.
I have stitched life into me like a rare *****,
And walked carefully, precariously, like something rare.
I have tried not to think too hard.  I have tried to be natural.
I have tried to be blind in love, like other women,
Blind in my bed, with my dear blind sweet one,
Not looking, through the thick dark, for the face of another.

I did not look.  But still the face was there,
The face of the unborn one that loved its perfections,
The face of the dead one that could only be perfect
In its easy peace, could only keep holy so.
And then there were other faces.  The faces of nations,
Governments, parliaments, societies,
The faceless faces of important men.

It is these men I mind:
They are so jealous of anything that is not flat!  They are jealous gods
That would have the whole world flat because they are.
I see the Father conversing with the Son.
Such flatness cannot but be holy.
'Let us make a heaven,' they say.
'Let us flatten and launder the grossness from these souls.'

FIRST VOICE:
I am calm.  I am calm.  It is the calm before something awful:
The yellow minute before the wind walks, when the leaves
Turn up their hands, their pallors.  It is so quiet here.
The sheets, the faces, are white and stopped, like clocks.
Voices stand back and flatten.  Their visible hieroglyphs
Flatten to parchment screens to keep the wind off.
They paint such secrets in Arabic, Chinese!

I am dumb and brown.  I am a seed about to break.
The brownness is my dead self, and it is sullen:
It does not wish to be more, or different.
Dusk hoods me in blue now, like a Mary.
O color of distance and forgetfulness!--
When will it be, the second when Time breaks
And eternity engulfs it, and I drown utterly?

I talk to myself, myself only, set apart--
Swabbed and lurid with disinfectants, sacrificial.
Waiting lies heavy on my lids.  It lies like sleep,
Like a big sea.  Far off, far off, I feel the first wave tug
Its cargo of agony toward me, inescapable, tidal.
And I, a shell, echoing on this white beach
Face the voices that overwhelm, the terrible element.

THIRD VOICE:
I am a mountain now, among mountainy women.
The doctors move among us as if our bigness
Frightened the mind.  They smile like fools.
They are to blame for what I am, and they know it.
They hug their flatness like a kind of health.
And what if they found themselves surprised, as I did?
They would go mad with it.

And what if two lives leaked between my thighs?
I have seen the white clean chamber with its instruments.
It is a place of shrieks.  It is not happy.
'This is where you will come when you are ready.'
The night lights are flat red moons.  They are dull with blood.
I am not ready for anything to happen.
I should have murdered this, that murders me.

FIRST VOICE:
There is no miracle more cruel than this.
I am dragged by the horses, the iron hooves.
I last.  I last it out.  I accomplish a work.
Dark tunnel, through which hurtle the visitations,
The visitations, the manifestations, the startled faces.
I am the center of an atrocity.
What pains, what sorrows must I be mothering?

Can such innocence **** and ****?  It milks my life.
The trees wither in the street.  The rain is corrosive.
I taste it on my tongue, and the workable horrors,
The horrors that stand and idle, the slighted godmothers
With their hearts that tick and tick, with their satchels of instruments.
I shall be a wall and a roof, protecting.
I shall be a sky and a hill of good:  O let me be!

A power is growing on me, an old tenacity.
I am breaking apart like the world.  There is this blackness,
This ram of blackness.  I fold my hands on a mountain.
The air is thick.  It is thick with this working.
I am used.  I am drummed into use.
My eyes are squeezed by this blackness.
I see nothing.

SECOND VOICE:
I am accused.  I dream of massacres.
I am a garden of black and red agonies.  I drink them,
Hating myself, hating and fearing.  And now the world conceives
Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love.
It is a love of death that sickens everything.
A dead sun stains the newsprint.  It is red.
I lose life after life.  The dark earth drinks them.

She is the vampire of us all.  So she supports us,
Fattens us, is kind.  Her mouth is red.
I know her.  I know her intimately--
Old winter-face, old barren one, old time bomb.
Men have used her meanly.  She will eat them.
Eat them, eat them, eat them in the end.
The sun is down.  I die.  I make a death.

FIRST VOICE:
Who is he, this blue, furious boy,
Shiny and strange, as if he had hurtled from a star?
He is looking so angrily!
He flew into the room, a shriek at his heel.
The blue color pales.  He is human after all.
A red lotus opens in its bowl of blood;
They are stitching me up with silk, as if I were a material.

What did my fingers do before they held him?
What did my heart do, with its love?
I have never seen a thing so clear.
His lids are like the lilac-flower
And soft as a moth, his breath.
I shall not let go.
There is no guile or warp in him.  May he keep so.

SECOND VOICE:
There is the moon in the high window.  It is over.
How winter fills my soul!  And that chalk light
Laying its scales on the windows, the windows of empty offices,
Empty schoolrooms, empty churches.  O so much emptiness!
There is this cessation.  This terrible cessation of everything.
These bodies mounded around me now, these polar sleepers--
What blue, moony ray ices their dreams?

I feel it enter me, cold, alien, like an instrument.
And that mad, hard face at the end of it, that O-mouth
Open in its gape of perpetual grieving.
It is she that drags the blood-black sea around
Month after month, with its voices of failure.
I am helpless as the sea at the end of her string.
I am restless.  Restless and useless.  I, too, create corpses.

I shall move north.  I shall move into a long blackness.
I see myself as a shadow, neither man nor woman,
Neither a woman, happy to be like a man, nor a man
Blunt and flat enough to feel no lack.  I feel a lack.
I hold my fingers up, ten white pickets.
See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks.
I cannot contain it.  I cannot contain my life.

I shall be a heroine of the peripheral.
I shall not be accused by isolate buttons,
Holes in the heels of socks, the white mute faces
Of unanswered letters, coffined in a letter case.
I shall not be accused, I shall not be accused.
The clock shall not find me wanting, nor these stars
That rivet in place abyss after abyss.

THIRD VOICE:
I see her in my sleep, my red, terrible girl.
She is crying through the glass that separates us.
She is crying, and she is furious.
Her cries are hooks that catch and grate like cats.
It is by these hooks she climbs to my notice.
She is crying at the dark, or at the stars
That at such a distance from us shine and whirl.

I think her little head is carved in wood,
A red, hard wood, eyes shut and mouth wide open.
And from the open mouth issue sharp cries
Scratching at my sleep like arrows,
Scratching at my sleep, and entering my side.
My daughter has no teeth.  Her mouth is wide.
It utters such dark sounds it cannot be good.

FIRST VOICE:
What is it that flings these innocent souls at us?
Look, they are so exhausted, they are all flat out
In their canvas-sided cots, names tied to their wrists,
The little silver trophies they've come so far for.
There are some with thick black hair, there are some bald.
Their skin tints are pink or sallow, brown or red;
They are beginning to remember their differences.

I think they are made of water; they have no expression.
Their features are sleeping, like light on quiet water.
They are the real monks and nuns in their identical garments.
I see them showering like stars on to the world--
On India, Africa, America, these miraculous ones,
These pure, small images.  They smell of milk.
Their footsoles are untouched.  They are walkers of air.

Can nothingness be so prodigal?
Here is my son.
His wide eye is that general, flat blue.
He is turning to me like a little, blind, bright plant.
One cry.  It is the hook I hang on.
And I am a river of milk.
I am a warm hill.

SECOND VOICE:
I am not ugly.  I am even beautiful.
The mirror gives back a woman without deformity.
The nurses give back my clothes, and an identity.
It is usual, they say, for such a thing to happen.
It is usual in my life, and the lives of others.
I am one in five, something like that.  I am not hopeless.
I am beautiful as a statistic.  Here is my lipstick.

I draw on the old mouth.
The red mouth I put by with my identity
A day ago, two days, three days ago.  It was a Friday.
I do not even need a holiday; I can go to work today.
I can love my husband, who will understand.
Who will love me through the blur of my deformity
As if I had lost an eye, a leg, a tongue.

And so I stand, a little sightless.  So I walk
Away on wheels, instead of legs, they serve as well.
And learn to speak with fingers, not a tongue.
The body is resourceful.
The body of a starfish can grow back its arms
And newts are prodigal in legs.  And may I be
As prodigal in what lacks me.

THIRD VOICE:
She is a small island, asleep and peaceful,
And I am a white ship hooting:  Goodbye, goodbye.
The day is blazing.  It is very mournful.
The flowers in this room are red and tropical.
They have lived behind glass all their lives, they have been cared for
        tenderly.
Now they face a winter of white sheets, white faces.
There is very little to go into my suitcase.

There are the clothes of a fat woman I do not know.
There is my comb and brush.  There is an emptiness.
I am so vulnerable suddenly.
I am a wound walking out of hospital.
I am a wound that they are letting go.
I leave my health behind.  I leave someone
Who would adhere to me:  I undo her fingers like bandages:  I go.

SECOND VOICE:
I am myself again.  There are no loose ends.
I am bled white as wax, I have no attachments.
I am flat and virginal, which means nothing has happened,
Nothing that cannot be erased, ripped up and scrapped, begun again.
There little black twigs do not think to bud,
Nor do these dry, dry gutters dream of rain.
This woman who meets me in windows--she is neat.

So neat she is transparent, like a spirit.
how shyly she superimposes her neat self
On the inferno of African oranges, the heel-hung pigs.
She is deferring to reality.
It is I.  It is I--
Tasting the bitterness between my teeth.
The incalculable malice of the everyday.

FIRST VOICE:
How long can I be a wall, keeping the wind off?
How long can I be
Gentling the sun with the shade of my hand,
Intercepting the blue bolts of a cold moon?
The voices of loneliness, the voices of sorrow
Lap at my back ineluctably.
How shall it soften them, this little lullaby?

How long can I be a wall around my green property?
How long can my hands
Be a bandage to his hurt, and my words
Bright birds in the sky, consoling, consoling?
It is a terrible thing
To be so open:  it is as if my heart
Put on a face and walked into the world.

THIRD VOICE:
Today the colleges are drunk with spring.
My black gown is a little funeral:
It shows I am serious.
The books I carry wedge into my side.
I had an old wound once, but it is healing.
I had a dream of an island, red with cries.
It was a dream, and did not mean a thing.

FIRST VOICE:
Dawn flowers in the great elm outside the house.
The swifts are back.  They are shrieking like paper rockets.
I hear the sound of the hours
Widen and die in the hedgerows.  I hear the moo of cows.
The colors replenish themselves, and the wet
Thatch smokes in the sun.
The narcissi open white faces in the orchard.

I am reassured.  I am reassured.
These are the clear bright colors of the nursery,
The talking ducks, the happy lambs.
I am simple again.  I believe in miracles.
I do not believe in those terrible children
Who injure my sleep with their white eyes, their fingerless hands.
They are not mine.  They do not belong to me.

I shall meditate upon normality.
I shall meditate upon my little son.
He does not walk. &n

1516

No Autumn’s intercepting Chill
Appalls this Tropic Breast—
But African Exuberance
And Asiatic rest.

mantra and insolence hand in hand
intercepting the idea of the baby boy crush applying to me like kinetic sand
barbie dolls at the marriott
saccharine jewels in the sewers rot
with
the old girlie i had a tap on
lipstick peeling away like a deteriorated vinyl record's song
let the angels waver, barter, become sicker
and quote 'say anything' as if it's a 90s sticker
have *****-stained carpet posted
and
uploaded to the black market webs
caption it "****** me"
and let the media do the rest
tired of these wicked games
isaac position me with rachel some day
at the mosque, eve and ann is scratched out into the old testament books
pack the bags
let's go
the hilton's booked
etch and sketch situated on the train tracks
along with two birds together
feet lazily dangling
bargaining with god to finish them over
****** denial, toothbrush stuffed in the dog's mouth
ran down the line, kissing him to the south
lost the baby girl along the way
let the dirt do the talking
gargled some milk and jack daniels honey
in large arms, lucid dreaming never seemed so calming

I hold my cards
close to my chest
on this night that is
oh so close.

No fan
to blow
air into my face,
not that it would
matter anyway.

The air
would just
remind me
that it is hot
this summer night.

I am drinking beers
while the fruit flies
are sharing with me.
No sense
in picking them
out of the cup..
more will arrive.

The woman
who lives upstairs,
how can she ride her bike,
on such a summer night.

I hear her,
it's the sound
of rowing,
a creak-creak-creak.

88 Willow,
the building with eight dwellings.

Through the open window
I hear a dog barking,
maybe two, three blocks away.

This building that I live in,
where the walls
are so thin
you know that
they have ears.
Have ears to hear.

Creak-creak-creak..
the woman is rowing,
her rowing machine rows
out into a great big sea
of imagination,
where there
is every kind
of sea creature
that you can conjure  
up in your mind.

And her
boyfriend, a fine
painter and sculpture.
He wants to do the
cover of my next book..

And I think, like that's ever going to happen.

My good friend
was over tonight,
he told me a story about
how he proposed
to his 'maritime' woman.

She cried and she cried
after she saw the ring,
not because it was so small,
but because she was
beside herself
in joyful delight.

I envy what it is they have,
but what they have
requires work, hard work.
They have one tried and true
partnership.

We talked about
reaching out to extended family,
as well as brothers and sisters in blood.

Me, of my own,
my father is turning eighty.
Eight decades and I know him not.
He fought
in the Korean War
and I've yet to ask him
about it.
Not once in my life time
has he even smelled
the wartime memories
that I am sure waft up
on occasion.

Now back to 88 Willow.

There is a drunkard
living in a basement apartment.
His legs are going
from wet brain.

He only calls me when
he is drunk.

He has two drinks and
he starts fumbling worse
than a line backer
intercepting
a foreword lateral pass.

I don't want to move,
though I know I have to,
to keep on keeping on,
I've got to move,
I have to move.


© 2013

My mind begins to whisper and speak,
Bizarre stories, grotesque honesty,
"It's only true love you ever seek"
Tearing myself apart constantly.

When illusions always perceive me,
My mind stays forever incomplete,
If small details were so plain to see,
Intercepting your cold hearted feet.

body remains a scripture or an elixir?
my sins will deliver aroma in a mixture.
euphoria of the of the miracle comes from more than one ******.
see her in the air, here's her love now choke on it.
trashed vows, you married an astronaut
i cant breathe, snort more moon rock
So journey with me without recluse.

we erupted without fear, choices would take us there,
problems once again become magnetic
work her body and stretch em like calisthenics.
her weapon was every section of her body that came without electric
intercepting our tongues and pinching off depression.
pixels, links and interception will only drown our spirit
when you smell fear,
positively you'll hear it.
her cortex remains a vortex
tangibility in our whispers
*** in our champagne,
tears in our calypso.
no poem should ever,
be written in blisters.

(Chorus/Hook)
I've tried so hard to find you,
I've seen empty roads and streets,
Empty sheets, and broken dreams,
love is not all that seems.

Fire or cold it seems whatever the weather,
We used fight for our love but we came to our tether,
But her blood is ice cold and I cant seem to shiver,
This pain inside my heart my blood flows like a river,
My hearts been crushed into a million pieces,
You were always my biggest flaw, biggest diseases,
I'm rummaging around trying to find the pieces,
of this soul, that you stole, whilst my heartbreak increases.
But you tore me in two, even when you knew,
I was trying to renew, as you tried to subdue,
The lies behind your eyes as love fades, love slowly dies,
so does her disguise, a succubus applies,
but she denies, all the love he feels inside but its no surprise,
cause she was a regular woman who drains and dries
Her soul, to reach her own goal then breaks up with guys,
But then he buys, her a diamond like shes won first prize.

(Chorus/Hook)
I've tried so hard to find you,
I've seen empty roads and streets,
(Growing and Hoping you see, no women stopping me)
Empty sheets, and broken dreams,
love is not all that seems.
(If you're weighed down break free or drown)

I think those back-trackers are all delusional,
you're losing your mind your becoming dysfunctional,
I'm hoping, I'm choking, I'm breaking down and I'm shaking,
while her heart is flaking, love from my bones I'm quaking,
in my shoes, like a puppet on string, a short wired fuse,
to trip me at any moment then abuse,
My kindness and goodwill to show people I always spill,
All my pain and love into one girl and it won't fulfill,
The persistent greed she has and the cold dampened chill,
Her life of torment and the ability to ****,
A singular man to stone with one look in her eyes,
But don't worry I'll be saying the final goodbyes,
So watch me as I walk out of your fiery frozen door,
but Don't ignore that my heart will recoup and restore,
To it's former fame and glory its an old untold story,
How my past relationship was really ******* stormy.

(Chorus)
I've tried so hard to find you,
I've seen empty roads and streets,
(Growing and Hoping you see, no women stopping me)
Empty sheets, and broken dreams,
love is not all that seems.
(If you're weighed down break free or drown)

Because she's dripping am slipping on the venom shes sprays
while I'm gripping and swinging these double edged blades,
wearing these shades to protect from the rays that she will blaze,
from her eyes its the only way that it seems to fade,
But you always pointed the finger at me like you knew,
that from the moment we both met it was gonna be you
the one who cut me in half and left me in two,
But I gained strength from within then I squashed down and drew,
A line through the page that messed with my sanity,
cos of confusion,  I couldn't catch gravity
in my fingertips avoiding pain and agony,
but just for the formality, i gave myself mortality
Just so I can outgrow the pain that weighs me down
But we'll leave this town and I'll turn it right around,
if illusions perceive me my mind stays incomplete,
if details were plain to see Intercepting your cold hearted feet.

Sitting on the bench, hontoni arigato and hakagawa bows
Brushing my hair, thankful for a different language
Touching my knees, thank you errantly erroneously
Sit and gardens stare
Wildflowers in two words
Twos often wonder what was the word
Parallelogram vans wish they could be sentences
Pass me with the deans
Two summers bravery Illmatic plays
Slavery washed on me and flowed words with wabi-sabi
Ignorantly searching for simplicity, and intercepting
Lugging learned that he was sober and insightful
Things change inciting when he says I love you, but, I lost Arizona, leaving with LA pallbearers speaking in hymns for the lost weekend
When the two words, change to three words
And the different hangovers for different times
For the lively souls, rap still pays a visit to the nation that held millions, front and back
There lies a line of shining boundaries on the war that fire
Moving like a lava lamp
Back again, frontal lobe pulsates those ups and downs
Delightful lively and where did I lose my shine, and the fire of eyes flickers with the midnight spoon of flickering night streets
Uh soon, **** is a disease masking the ability to change
Politics is where greed wears the mask of morality
But, **** man the less I know them better, right
in the circus of an ersatz clown, as the frugal fire of the murders of the shining and the power of music, burning your conviction in my heart
Dying with the fires of hell, anecdotes of simple fools who can understand simple things
Fools are the wise men when they learn to sharpen their knives
Leave themselves in the sharp mouth of gorillas in the lava iridescent friends, grins writing your heart, your light, your life like a monolith
I miss your thoughts and knowing, and adding what's my own
What can I add to New York state of Mind, does the midnight strike the good night, and ask it to be gentle
As morning cup of tea of burning brilliance of dull months of April under the arid love, that's a moral desert I cannot stop, I'm on the road of life, the battered suitcases catch the candor of deserted times under the train, had it told me you'd to leave the intrigue of the speakeasies, with your French look and glib iridescence of shyness, Canadian stealing cars under the mobsters that leap out
Falling in love and breaking bad would start chasing you
Understanding good and evil, I've been the prisoner of the holy child
Antediluvian time and all that crap, mice among men we crawl the streets in the friend that remembers on the outside
Familial uproar bringing up the baby under the ****** footprints, under drama and cine lights
Life needs a little soul, and a little love to grow imaginative
These years go by, and the pensive life doesn't find solace in good company on the streets belonging to the streetlights, and angry streets with desolate angels

Desolation angels looking for their place in the sun
Fortifying a lot of observation, and marching band with their meters
Challenging themselves, music and jazz, we talk about inconsistency of the eon
Poems, of thee Buddhahood looking for a friend, in the supernatural darkness
Sagacious beams from the life dedicated to accepting the life of cause and effect where I had only but silence
My faction of the Eastern Bloc, we are looking in all directions and running in de jure circles
Facts of scientific, joking in your book and hysterical and naked surly curs on the fruit covered by the dust, I need to embellish these claps
In the fire times, of the watered Cupid in the Venus allegorical girl
Beezlebub lost his mind paraphrasing in Hell, arrived in Lucifer on the cross steeple
In the land of milk and honey, in the passion of the church
I'm laughing at my typing, and the technology has changed and so have the women
I'm the living embodiment of a ceiling now, spinning like an embryo or test tube vestibule
How am I gonna survive on the ability to live like someone has committed suicide for me tonight as it grows hoarse
Stand the generous suicide, it was painless
You know o'er head her still face has madcap laughter at her soundful something, I don't know after I climb the ladder and yell this is the answering bell to doors of Heaven and Hell's doormat, I am a plenary one
Virile yelling on the catatonic piano, we are imagining peace and lost like a dreamer, just like the flower that grows like the uncle in Albert, we just lost our only photographer from the ashram

In the darkest hour the sliver of light pierces through,
Illuminating the bones of our truth,
Rearranged and remoulded by the sands of time,
Revealing its raw crevices for the world to see

They say it's darkest before dawn,
In the still of the night, they danced in unison,
Intertwining individuals intercepting fate,
Setting forth a fiery flame for all the pawns in this game

Carnal desire madly racing through their veins,
Pulsing the minutes as if life depended on it,
Passion enveloping the world only they could bear witness to,
As the crack of the moon dragged her blacks across the Jungian skies

They fight for the other like no other,
They will wait out stormy seas and torrents of trouble,
Where does faith lie but if not in their hearts that had been glued back?
For the bonds of love can weather through any matter.

~Vijaya Balan and Shalini Nayar
21.10.14
(c) 2014

Nowadays ... when I write ...
My Tension ... " Lessens " ...
which ... Helps me find ...
Some ... " Peace of Mind " ...

Enabling me ...
To Avoid ....

" Depression " .... !!!!!!

My writing style ...
Keeps On ... " Progressing " ...

Thus ... when I write ...
I do ... Less ... stressing ...

I'm now ... investing ...
So Much Time ... !!! ...

"Constructing" ... sentences ...
Built in .... rhyme ....
that time now seems ...
to .... pass me by ....

I don't know ... why ... ?
but ... now my life ...
Feels ... Less Complex ...
when I ... " Express " ... !!!
the thoughts that ... REST ...
inside .... My Mind ....

I've ... NEVER ...
been one ...
to enjoy ... a good cry ...

I'd rather try ...
to ... " Solidify " ...
My ... " Mental State " ...

So .... " Contemplate " .................................

and .... " Train My Brain " ....
to .... " Find A Way " ....
to .... " Ease My Pain " ....

That's ... Easy to Say ...
But .... " Not To Do !!! " ....

Especially when ....
You have .... " Dark Moods ! "

Moods ... that can lead ...
to .... " Self Abuse " .... !!! ....

"Intercepting" .... Progression ....

Well .....
That's .... NOT GOOD .... !!!!!

Simple inspection ...
of thoughts your collecting ...
can give you ... "Direction" ...
and ... Fuel ... Your Progression ...

WE ALL ...
NEED TO LEARN ... !!!!!

from life's ...
"Simple Lessons" ...
and make ... "Good Selections" ...
or face ... "Long Detentions" ...
once judges ... Pass Sentence ... !!!

AIDS ... keeps on progressing ...
because of ... " Infections " ...
So ... USE ... some protection ...
when getting .... ERECTIONS .... !!!!!!

and girls .....

" Take Your Time " ...

with ... EVERY ... New Guy ...
before yes ... " Progressing " ...
To Spreading ... " Those Thighs " ... !!!

"Progression' ... is nice ... !!!
when ... Temperatures' Rise ...
for ... " ****** Type Highs " ...

Especially when ....
Her Body ... is ... TIGHT ... !!!!!

When ... Everything's Right ... !!! ...
Drinks by ... " Candlelight " ...
or under ... " Moonlight " ... !!! ...
Way Up ... in the sky ...

is the kind of ... Progression ...
I just .... Cannot Fight ....
and that's a ... Confession ...
I'll ... ALWAYS ... stand by ... !!!!!

But .....
Only ... with women ...
with ... "Progressive Minds" ...

I Don't like felines ....
with ... Obsessive Minds ...
or those now .... Inclined ....
to sniff on .... " Cokelines " .... !!!!!

Relationships .... Lengthen ....
when both are ... Progressing ...
on .... " Similar Lines " ....

Opposites ... May Attract ... ?
but sometimes ... " Collapse " ... !!!
because of ... The Fact ...
that ... " Forward Progression " ...
comes easy when moving ...
in YES ... " One Direction " ... !!! ...

The point that i'm ...
.... STRESSING .... !!!

is ... have a ...
.... " Connection " .....
with who you're ....
.... " Selecting " ....

and this ...
You may find ... ?
Helps keep you ...
" Progressing " ...

Just like ... I now do ...
through words I now use ...
that help me .... " Defuse " ....
My .... " Aggressive Moods " ....

These days ...
I look forward ...
and ... try to ... " Progress " ...
because of the ... " Traumas " ...
that ... make me get ... MAD ... !!!!!!

But now ...
when I get ...
My Pen and Notepad ...
and ... start to express ...

It Helps me ... Progress ...
by ... THINKING ... much more ...
Therefore ... " Stressing " ...

....... much less .............

This form of ... " Progression "
Develops ... My Strength ...
and ... Helps me to ... DEAL ...
with ... " ignorant Heads " ... !!!

It's ... working for me ...
in this ... Society ...
of .... " Fallacies " ....

Built to place ... STRESS ... !!!
on our need to ... " Progress " ... ?

We're ... CLEARLY ...
..... " Regressing " .....
instead of ... " Progressing " ...

Life's ... providing
..... " Distress " ..... !!!
and ... " Stress-Filled Tests ! "

that ... cannot be ... Eased ...
by the ... Latest PC ...
or ... HD ... T.V.    
when so many live in ...

...... " Poverty " ...... !!!!!!!!!

What kind of progression ... ?
Creates ... So Much ...
..... " Stressing " ...... !?!
about .... Energy ....
and having .... Money .... !!!?!!!

Is this ... " Humanity " ... ?!?

or just a ... " Procession " ...
to ... Human Life ... ending ...
because of .... " Aggression " ....
and ... " Progressive Greed " ... !!!!!

So Many ... have questions ... ?
that they ... Want to ask ...
about our ... " Existence " ...

But .....
Where do we ... start ... !?!

When governments now ...
Refuse to ... back down ... !!!!!

Our leaders are ... " Messing " ... !!!
with most of ... "Gods' Blessings" ... !!!

We must ... !!!
Lessen Tensions  ... !!!!!

REMEMBER ....
that sentence .... !!!!!

If we are to ... " Strengthen "
We Need ... " Less Aggression " ... !!!
and should ... Pay Attention ... !!! ...
to ... " Historys' Lessons " ...

Especially those ...
that have ... " Hindered " ...

.... " Progression " ....

my mind will finally be hollow when explosive entities of its existential warfare finally self destruct.
until then,
Recondite rifles are ruthlessly reloaded with unanswerable questions regarding the purpose of seemingly non purposeful things;
lack of resolve wrecks me.
Unanswered ammunition degrades cerebral cells, intercepting normal neural connections:
I cannot think properly in the midst of pellets of panic

until then,
Selfless soldiers employed by future uncertainty battle against selfish soldiers of MY physical being, employed by my diminishing desire for sanity.
They engage in trench warfare: digging desolate ditches, hammering holes, all of which eventually collapse and contribute to the constant compression of my cortex.
But Compliments and Hope fracture into particles of sand that are ****** into the openings in my pupils by amorphous wind which is structureless anyway
these particles are vacuumed down my optic nerves and pile into pillars of petrifying plant-based picket fences that try to guard against the existential warfare plaguing my mind
But more explosive entities enter through my ears and reproduce in my temples waiting to self destruct

until then,
Forces convolute: existential warfare compresses my cortex into inevitable flat nothingness, while pitiful pillars of disillusioning dust collapse because the wind that whisked them inside NEVER EXISTED ANYWAY
Eventually i will implode

Until then,
numbness gnaws at my heart to balance the bullets
waiting to implode
until then,
Existential Warfare bombards my brain with bullets of black metal

Ghost chance
Translucent trance
Appear in the season
For a reason
Never hide
From a ghostly guide
Who oversees
You and me
   M  ight Be
   E  very Other You
   S  ee
   S  upernal
   A  ngel In All
   G  uidance
   E   thereal
   S   hifts
With token gifts
Of heavenly drift
Intercepting
Calm and accepting
Playing amidst
Maybe even kissed
By divine
Seraphim bliss

Don’t believe him when he says he’ll set you free
He’ll slice up your halo and sell it for a cheap fee
And when your sinking in the quicksand, powerless, in need
He’ll be the first to cut the rope, with a grin like those on TV
The machine has no heart yet you’re feeding it now
With words and small gestures, they’re those on the prowl
Who’ll make no exceptions for them hearts of purity
No one knows how they got that way, like those on TV
And it’s a momentary thing, permanent but not set in stone
Everyone’s wasting their sweetness on a place that can’t be home
And everyone’s dreaming of hurt instead of hope and let it be’s
Who’s intercepting our minds, probably those on TV
Walking on a wire, settling for the ball and chain
From these clichés and drama plays we don’t refrain
Who has the message, who sent us in this direction without the keys
Who’s turning this world around, is it those on TV?

Slowly it comes, intercepting thoughts
I could have sworn it was you
I was told not to believe
Just leave he said
We can’t ever know the truth
Sudden interruptions, falling off the edge
Just close it up and try again
You never really knew how to begin

Like a fire it burns
What was on top would never return
Moving of the sheets, an absent entity
Reaching towards nothing, the need to withdraw
Happening again it must be real
The silence begs to differ and it’s time
Minutes go by to never return

And in the night it shines through
What we swore was never there
Reality becomes blurred and we see clearly
I know that you’re there
Just bring me back to you

Previous experience learn from my mistakes
If only it were worse with a witness
But now I’m alone and I know
Never was it impossible
My perception is not what it was
The ghost of you it lingers
Broken in pieces I remain

We walk among silent god's;
Intercepting our every pulse, our every step.
    Tracing our every breath unto its last--
  Connecting every life, race and element--
and occasionally, knotting our shoe laces
when we arent looking as we're about
                                                    to cross the road...

My mother is my most absolute treasure
The most amazing of all or any creature
She has hidden herself at the bottom of the sea
She is holding herself out, and waiting up for me
Our minds are one alike,
but I won't give up
I am determined to repeat this rhyme
But not in the same way - she tried
And failed without recognition
She set her soul on fire,
And no one she knew was with her
She is trapped inside her own mind
She is so intuitive, with thoughts too fine
Intercepting and accepting things of the unknown
Of secret entities she unknowingly invites into her home
And tries to get along with
Every single day
She tries to make them her friends
But then they linger longer, and try to stay
She has been force fed pills her whole teenage life
And still continues to take them
She is told every time she is supposed to "embrace" them
My mother is going to be 42 years old
The government is holding her to this unrighteous mold
It is deteriorating her inner most being
They are telling her she's crazy
But they have no idea what she is hearing!
She called ME last night asking me if I was hearing voices
And she's done this before,
I used to ignore it
Surprisingly I was, I thought I was speaking to the Holy Spirit
Or some form of her, my very own mother
BEFORE I was told she had some sort of what they call a mental illness
Before I understood this different part of her..
Which by the way no one ever told me
She has had this problem only a few years after I was born
And I didn't figure it out until I was seventeen
So again, she calls me,
I think I've been speaking to her supposed lost spirit
But my mom was never gone
I had to open my mind and realize this
She just started to accept this intuitivenss
So, she asks me again if I have been hearing voices
I repeat myself, 'Yeah mom, I have"
Just so you know it wasn't that I was hearing voices,
I have been going through something similar
Accepting my own intuitiveness
Trying to climb the same pillar
She asks me this question,
If I have another mother
Do I have another mother?
I reply --- no I cry, "Of course not mom, I love you"
"What is this about? How is it that you knew"
She said sometimes some things just 'zip' though her mind
She has to address them
Especially when her only daughters state of reality is on the line
She screams back at me, it gets the best of her
"WHY DO YOU NEED TO LISTEN, WHY DO YOU NEED ANOTHER MOTHER"
She hangs up on me
I couldn't help but call her back
She acted so normal
As if what just happened wasn't real
And I don't blame her, I couldn't believe it myself
So I brought it back up
I let her know
I thought it was her
I thought it was her soul
Mom, I was listening for you
My one and only mother
My one and only star
My one and only protector
My one and only that birthed me into this earth
The one who looks at me,
And sees nothing but all I'm worth
I am her chosen one
I am her only one
We are sharing this same 'What ever you want to call it'
You can call me a Psychic,
Or tell me I'm schizophrenic
I will tell you right now I am fine
I want to deal with this
What every happening to me is so divine
My mom and I are one alike
So intuitive with thoughts too fine
But together we will fight this battle
Together we can build this mantel
And I will fight with her,
Because she fights for me
She's fighting for it ever day
And yet the world still thinks she's crazy

Headstrong Tornado

I feel like I failed myself for not joining the Royal Air Force

I wanted to join for years ever since I was a kid

But my teenage moods got in the way

Like they did with most other things

And still do but I see them for what they are, moods

Which stopped me from being elite

And serving my country and deterring the enemy

Be it Soviet Russia or anyone else

Looking back I realise things were as bad as they were

My moods were a hurricane of what?

Teenage angst about not having a girl?

Pressure cooker emotions caused by my dominant mum?

Peer pressure rivalry to be normal and one of them?

Being bullied and having to fight for my existence?

Simply living and being me in my head and world

A world where I want to fly and dream of the sky

Like I have every day since I was born

The fact that it could of been different

Nick the Tornado F3 pilot intercepting Soviet Bear bombers

But my eyesight went bad and i never got full grades

So it was my unfulfilled dream up in the clouds

Yet it wasn't all doom and gloom

I did re-arm IX SquadronTornado planes with practise bombs

This was in 1986 at RAF Honington with Sgt Edwards

That made up for my career failure

Even if it was just for a day

In my memory that day never ends...

Intercepting the random
poems, pick not
the holy water, in your palm.
I cannot lift the words.

Dark bellies, in moon's
autumn, will play with flutes.
You will swoon on the
sight of blood at the hands.

It was not the first time, a
lamb in the midair―
falls on the golden spear of
new theme, to bluff the naiveness.

Somebody takes a turn, to
find the bell, which will not send
any sound, on the death of
the poppies.

Intercepting their spies
Therein enemy lies
Still romanticize ways
We can say
Our goodbyes
Despite actively having
Familiar relations
More intimate moments
Distorting equations
Of perfectly
Planned
Unforeseen
Consequences
When we’re in the business
Of breaching defenses

Intercepting the random
poems, pick not
the holy water, in your palm.
I cannot lift the words.

Dark bellies, in moon's
autumn, will play with flutes.
You will swoon on the
sight of blood at the hands.

It was not the first time, a
lamb in the midair―
falls on the golden spear of
new theme, to bluff the naiveness.

Somebody takes a turn, to
find the bell, which will not send
any sound, on the death of
the poppies.